


In Engex Veritas

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one hard-partying medic versus one tough former Decepticon in the most epic drinking contest Swerve's Bar has ever witnessed!  But Ratchet and Drift may just end up getting more than they bargained for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Engex Veritas

Ratchet lifted his drink with a flourish, enjoying the smooth, precise motions of his new hands; no more squinting as he tried to make his fingertips connect around smaller objects, no more glasses slipping from between glitching fingers.  Raising the glass to eye level, he winked and tipped it slightly towards his opponent.  “You’re going down, kid.”

“When the processor has achieved harmony, then the frame can withstand any test.”  Was it Ratchet’s imagination, or was there the faintest hint of a smirk beneath Drift’s tranquil tone?

They clinked glasses, and each of them threw back the shot of engex, to the whoops and cheers of the mecha gathered around them.  Swerve was yelling, “Okay, okay, last chance, folks, place your bets with the bartender!  Don’t forget, we’re also running a side pool on how many shots it will take before one of them drops!”

“Brainstorm, get that thing away from me,” Ratchet growled, as Brainstorm waved a beeping instrument of… _some_ kind in his face.

“I’m calculating your precise rate of energy combustion based on your heat signature, frame type, and age.  Because I can.  Tell me,” Brainstorm continued, popping open a hatch on the device and extending an antenna from it, “how long ago were your last rations, and are you experiencing digestive problems?”

“I will digest _you and your briefcase_ if you don’t step away from me.”

Clutching his briefcase in an offended manner, Brainstorm wound his way back over to Chromedome’s side.  “Well, despite his _pissy_ mood,” he stage-whispered, “I’ve determined that Ratchet will definitely be the winner.”

“Hey, Rewind,” Chromedome called.  “Can we spare fifty?”

“Mmm?  Oh, yeah, Domey, if you’re sure about it.”  Rewind returned to explaining the betting system to Tailgate, who was listening with rapt attention.

“Great.  Swerve, fifty shanix on Drift.”

Brainstorm gave an outraged huff and crossed his arms protectively over his briefcase.

Throughout all of this, Drift gazed at Ratchet steadily, a faint smile on his lips.  “Ready?”

“I was forged ready.”

Swerve topped up their glasses, and they drank again, each of them clinking the empty glass down hard.  The cheering was even louder this time.  “Kick his aft, Doc!” yelled Hound.  The engex was replenished again, and again.

The fifth drink traditionally called for a toast.  Some historians suggested that it was to honour the Guiding Hand, but Ratchet had always suspected that the reason was simpler than that; after five drinks, most systems started to show signs of impairment, so any two Cybertronians who had managed to peacefully down that many in each other’s company were unlikely to up and kill each other after that point.  Ratchet was rather cynical about the root of all Cybertronian traditions always leading back to death.  As the younger of the two, Drift lifted his glass first, and inclined his head.  “’Til All Are One.”

Ratchet sat for a moment, accessing his memory banks from his time on Earth, then returned the gesture.  _“Kanpai.”_ Most of the crew, who’d never had occasion to download Japanese, stared at each other in puzzlement, but the way Drift’s optics brightened was worth it.

Swerve filled the glasses once again.

***

Two hours later, the table looked like a campaign map, with two massive armies of overturned glasses squaring off for battle.

“Give up, kid,” Ratchet drawled slowly.  “You’re up against a mech they used to call the party king of Iacon Medical.”

“And you –”  Drift pointed at him, then swayed abruptly as the movement affected his balance.  “Are up against.  A mech.  Who is me!”  Pleased with himself, he giggled.  “And I… I used to eat circuit boosters.  For – thing.  Breakfast.”

They downed their umpteenth shots, and Ratchet clutched the table.  The room had gone silent, with every pair of optics fixed on the two opponents.

“Not the same.”  Ratchet drew himself up as Swerve set his refill in front of him.  “Not the same.  Circuit boosters go straight to the processor.  Bypass the tanks en –“ *hic* “entirely.  Now, this stuff…”  He drank, and Drift quickly followed suit.  “It affects the tanks, affects the lines, overcharges the spark as well as the brain.  The only way is to build up a systemic tolerance.”

Drift nodded sagely.

“You’re shiny,” he informed Ratchet, before toppling unceremoniously to the floor.

***

Drift woke in a dim room, with the soft beeping of medical equipment next to his audial.  He sat up slowly, and found Ratchet watching him from a nearby chair.

“This feels familiar.”  Drift’s smile was thin.  “Careful; you’re going to get into the habit of rescuing me.”

“A hangover is hardly a plague or an overdose, kid.  Besides, I didn’t do anything.  Just gave us both a quick shot of detox and let you sleep it off.  I even made Trailbreaker carry you here.”  Ratchet barked a laugh.  “’Course, I’d just won him a pretty sizeable bet, so he wasn’t complaining.  Chromedome says you owe him fifty shanix, by the way.  I think Rewind was yelling at him.”

Drift grinned ruefully, and stretched.  There was silence for a moment.

“As a matter of fact,” Ratchet continued softly, “I didn’t rescue you those other times, either.”

“Ratchet – what?”

“Sure, I brought you back in Rodion, but it was Orion who rescued you.  My part was just cleanup.  And on Delphi, I seem to remember _you_ saving _me_.”

“After you got the antidote –”

“Pharma’s antidote.  First Aid gave it to you.  All I did was catch it when it dropped, and if you hadn’t been there, I’d have fragged that up, too.”  Ratchet stroked his chin with one hand – Pharma’s hand.  “Never mind that I was the one who took you there in the first place; who left you cornered with Pipes while I was busy getting that Pit-damned glitch Pharma free.  If you think about it, you were only ever _in_ danger because of me.”

“Don’t say that.”  Drift’s optics were wide and pale and reproachful in the low light.

“It’s just… sometimes you look at me like…”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the first step towards your slagging redemption.  Like it’s me you’re trying to convince.  I don’t want that on my shoulders, Drift.”

To Ratchet’s surprise, Drift laughed quietly.  “That’s not why I look at you the way I do.”

“Oh, really?  Then what the frag is it?”

Drift slid off the berth, padded over to Ratchet’s chair, and kissed him.

The younger mech’s mouth was cool and soft against his, and so very careful.  Pulling away, Drift flashed a half-smile.  “I know that’s not the answer you expected, Ratchet, and I –“

Ratchet surged up out of his chair, wrapping both hands – the hands Drift had won for him – around the kid’s shoulders and kissing him soundly.

“Unexpected,” he panted in Drift’s audial, “is very different from unwanted.”


End file.
